Harry Potter and the Forbidden Passage

Chapter 16: Old Acquaintances

Tuesday dawned cold and dismal with raindrops the size of Galleons pelting the window panes while distant thunder rumbled in the background. The noise made sleeping all but impossible. So it was hardly surprising that all of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw could be found assembling in the Great Hall much earlier than usual that morning. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins continued to sleep soundly in their beds, the pounding storm muffled by their underground dormitories.

The storm however was not the reason why Harry awakened long before the break of dawn. Nor had he been troubled by nightmares, as was so common of late. On the contrary, for the first time in months, there hadn't been any nightmares. Nevertheless, he had arisen long before his roommates, feeling so anxious and tense that sleep was a lost cause. It was the same feeling he had before a big Quidditch match or before each of the Triwizard tasks - a sense of mingled dread and anticipation that left him slightly nauseous.

This time, however, the nausea had less to do with something as much as it did with someone. Ginny's revelation the previous night had come quite unexpected. He still couldn't understand how she knew that the broom was from him and he laid awake in bed pondering the question.

Part of him was still afraid of what might happen if Ron ever found out. He was somewhat relieved to find Ron still sleeping soundly in the next bed when he awoke. But then another much more likely and equally unwelcome possibility occurred to him - what if Ginny had told Hermione? She had promised she wouldn't tell Ron but had said nothing about Hermione. And wasn't Hermione the one who had disapproved of him giving his Triwizard winnings to Fred and George? And if Hermione knew, how long would it be before Ron knew?

By the time they went down to breakfast, these thoughts were still plaguing him. He found himself so distracted that he walked straight into someone when he entered the Great Hall.

"Sorry," he said quickly. Looking up, he was horrified to find that the person he was apologizing to was Cho Chang.

"Oh, Harry, it's you," Cho said as she turned around to face him. She and Marietta (whose cursed spots from the previous year had finally faded into a faint scar) were standing to the side of the doors when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had entered.

"Cho," he said, startled.

"We'll save a seat for you, Harry," Hermione said, excusing herself and dragging Ron with her. Marietta followed shortly thereafter, leaving Harry and Cho alone.

Cho looked a bit uncomfortable, but nowhere near as awkward as Harry felt at that moment.

"How are you, Harry? I heard that you're Captain of the Gryffindor team this year."

He nodded.

"That's great, you really deserve it." She sounded truly sincere and yet a bit distant.

"Thanks," he said, not quite sure what to say to her. "Erm…what about you? How's the Ravenclaw team this year?"

Cho blushed scarlet and looked away. "Well," she said slowly, "I'm not sure actually. I…I've decided not to join the team this year."

Harry raised his brows inquisitively.

"You know," she said quickly, "it's my last year and with all of the work for the N.E.W.T.s, I thought that Quidditch practices might be a bit too much extra."

"Oh…I see," Harry said slowly, trying to sound sympathetic to her rationalization. But the truth was he didn't "see" at all. It was quite obvious that she was quitting for other reasons and he had the distinct feeling that it had more to do with a lack of confidence rather than her academic workload. After all, she had been having trouble the previous year. She had even thrown her broom away after losing the Snitch to Ginny, but he hadn't really thought that she would quit completely.

She looked around nervously. "Well, I suppose Marietta is probably waiting for me, I should go. I'll see you around then, Harry."

"See you," Harry replied, watching curiously as Cho walked away and joined the Ravenclaw table, sitting next to Michael Corner. As he looked at them, he supposed he ought to feel a bit jealous, but found oddly that he didn't care.

When he turned to the Gryffindor table, he found Ginny looking in his direction and his eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before she looked away, turning to speak to Neville.

As breakfast continued, Harry quickly found that he couldn't look at Ginny without the blood rushing to his face. He was sure that he kept turning an unsightly shade of pink. Fortunately, Ron seemed to think that his strange behavior had something to do with his encounter with Cho and kept telling him that they were better off apart. Harry nodded as though he were listening while he fixated on the problem with Ginny.

He still couldn't figure out how she knew that he'd sent the broom. At first, he was certain that McGonagall must have said something when she returned the broom to Ginny. But McGonagall had said that she wouldn't tell her. Could Ginny simply have guessed that he'd given her the broom? But if it was only a guess, then why had Ginny sounded so certain?

Maybe, he thought, maybe she was testing him. Maybe she had just thanked him for the broom to test his reaction. Well, if that was the case, he could just play dumb and act like he didn't know anything about it. He hadn't confirmed it after all. Well, now that he had his wits about him, he could simply deny it. That would solve everything. He'd just have to find the right place and time to talk to her. He smiled, feeling quite relieved and pleased with his solution.

And his mood improved considerably when the post owls arrived. Two brown owls dropped off letters for Hermione just as Hedwig landed in front of Harry. She held out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then flew off after swallowing whole the piece of bacon he had offered her. Turning over the envelope, he immediately recognized the neat script - it was a reply from Remus.

Well, this was certainly interesting news. He would have to remind himself to write back to Lupin and ask for the details, but knowing Lupin, he probably would say no more than he already had. Still, it was quite intriguing that Ramsey had known his father. And something that Lupin had mentioned about Ramsey had reminded Harry of something but he couldn't quite remember what it was. He tucked the letter into his pocket, deciding to reread it later when he would have more privacy.

Harry looked up to find Ron watching him expectantly.

"Lupin," Harry said simply, as though that would explain everything. For some reason, he didn't want to share this letter quite yet.

Ron gave him a look as if to say, "And?"

But Harry merely ignored him and turned to Hermione, who was stowing a very thick envelope into her book bag.

Ron must have noticed too, because he turned to her and asked, "Wuz zat?" with a mouthful of food as he peered over her shoulder, his eyes fixed on the envelope.

"Excuse me?" she replied, staring disapprovingly at Ron.

Ron chewed a few times and swallowed. "What's that?" he repeated. "That letter."

"It's from my parents," she said as she opened the other envelope, which she still held in her hand while at the same time further concealing the contents of her bag..

"Not that one," Ron said, pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice, "the one you just put in your bag."

Hermione tensed up slightly and was not quick to respond. When she did, her voice sounded strained. "Not that it's any of your business, but it's a letter from Viktor."

At those words, Ron's face turned a sickly shade and Harry felt like moving for fear that all of the food Ron had just gorged himself on would reappear.

The food stayed where it was, but Ron did explode. "You're still writing to that-"

"Don't start," Hermione threatened, looking up to glare at him. She shook her head in disappointment. "I knew I shouldn't tell you. I knew you wouldn't understand, but I had hoped you would have matured even the tiniest morsel."

Ron sputtered in indignation, but no intelligible words came out.

Hermione continued her tirade. "Honestly, what do you have against Viktor Krum, anyways? Why should it matter to you if we're friends?"

Hermione sighed in frustration and stood up. "Never mind, I'm leaving to read my letter in peace. Harry, I'll be in the library if you need me." She stalked off angrily, tossing her book bag roughly over her shoulder as she left.

Watching her leave, Ron looked rather flustered. "Well, there she goes again. What's with women anyway? Who do they fly off the handle like that for no reason? I mean, Ginny's like that too. You know she got that broom back from McGonagall yesterday, and I asked her if she found out who it was from and she just lashed out at me and stomped off like I'd done something wrong. I'm her brother for Merlin's sake. Why won't she just tell me?"

To be truthful, Harry had found the whole scene between his friends rather amusing until Ron had mentioned Ginny. As soon as he'd brought up the broom, Harry's eyes widened and anything that he had been about to say to Ron completely slipped from his head. Struggling to maintain his composure, he finally shrugged in response.

Fortunately, Ron seemed preoccupied and didn't notice that Harry's facial coloring had blanched a few shades lighter than normal. "I just don't understand," Ron continued, shaking his head, "what Hermione sees in that…that…"

"Grumpy git?" Harry supplied, recalling what Ron had labeled Krum the prior year.

"Precisely," Ron nodded with satisfaction.

For the sake of peace between his best friends, Harry dared to tread in dangerous waters. "You know, I don't really think there's anything going on between them," he said cautiously.

Ron furrowed his brows and looked at Harry as if he had just betrayed him. "Of course there isn't, he's in bloody Bulgaria."

"I mean I don't think she likes him in that way. They're just friends, at least in her opinion anyway, and she's not going to stop writing to him just because you don't like him," he said honestly.

Ron folded his arms, assuming a stubborn posture that clearly expressed his displeasure with the conversation. "But you and I both know that he has other intentions and…and…he's just not right for her."

It took some effort for Harry to restrain himself from asking, "Well, who is right then?"

"I mean," Ron continued, "Krum went to Durmstrang. He probably knows all about the Dark Arts. He could be in league with You-Know-Who for all we know."

Harry stared at Ron earnestly. "You don't really believe that," he said calmly. "Besides, if you think he's a Death Eater, why do you still have his autograph? I saw you pack it in your trunk before we left. Come on, admit it - you don't think he's so bad."

"Well…maybe not," Ron admitted, "but that still doesn't make him right for her. I mean he's older, and he's always scowling and…well, Hermione doesn't have any brothers, so it's our job to protect her from blokes like him, right?"

In fact, Harry did not want to involve himself at all in these matters with Hermione. This conversation with Ron already seemed far too much like meddling for his liking, but he would not tell Ron this.

"Like you said, he's in Bulgaria. There's not much that Krum can do from there. And I think Hermione can take care of herself on this one."

At first, Ron looked skeptical but then the angry, betrayed look slumped into one of resignation. He looked thoughtful as he pushed around the contents of his plate with his fork. After a minute of silence, Ron mumbled something very quietly - just a few short words that Hermione would have skipped a class to hear and that Harry felt certain he would never hear again from Ron's lips.

"Maybe you're right," Ron had said in a voice barely above a whisper.

* * * * *

By the middle of his first Advanced Transfiguration class that morning, Harry began to wish that he had actually listened to Hermione and finished his summer readings before classes started. By the end of class, he still hadn't been able to turn his feather into a bird. The most he had managed was something that looked like an egg with feathers attached. Even Neville, whom McGonagall had only accepted into her N.E.W.T. level class on a trial basis, had produced a quail chick. Hermione, naturally, had managed a sparrow on her first attempt and had spent the rest of the time Transfiguring different birds, ending the class with a magnificent peacock sitting on her desk. The only one who made him feel somewhat better was Ron, whose bird seemed to be an odd mix of a pigeon and a rooster. Still, it was better than the feathery lump sitting in front of Harry.

He was far too distracted to concentrate on his classwork and had just as much trouble in Charms that afternoon. Professor Flitwick had started a lesson on Conjuring spells and instructed them all to create a cotton ball from thin air, but all that Harry was able to produce was a wispy cloud that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. He tried to concentrate on gathering the particles in the air to combine and shape the object in question, as Professor Flitwick had instructed them, but his mind kept returning to Ginny. He needed to know how she had found out that the broom was from him. Fortunately, Charms was his last class of the day. Ron on the other hand, still had to attend Divination.

After much complaining, to which Harry was completely unsympathetic, Ron left for his Divination class, leaving Harry and Hermione behind. The problems Harry had been experiencing in Transfiguration and Charms had not escaped Hermione's notice and she insisted at once that they should practice the Conjuring spells in the library. Harry agreed somewhat reluctantly, because he had hoped to use the time off to speak with Ginny, whom he had spent much of the day trying to track down. But Ginny proved to be rather evasive and he quickly gave in to Hermione and met her in the library.

He found her sitting at their usual table with a pile of Advanced Transfiguration textbooks lying next to her. But Hermione was not looking at any of these books, she was reading one of her letters with rapt attention and she was grinning widely.

"Good news?" Harry asked as he pulled out a chair and sat across from her.

Hermione looked up and smiled at him. "Actually, it is good news," she said as though she was keeping a secret that she couldn't wait to tell. "Viktor is returning."

Considering the conversation he had had earlier with Ron, this didn't seem like good news at all. "Oh?" he said.

"Yes, he says that he wants to help us in the war against Voldemort."

"That's…um….that's great. I'm sure he'll be a lot of help. Er…Hermione, you might want to avoid telling Ron about this anytime soon."

"After the way he acted this morning, you think I'd tell him anything? But he'll have to know shortly," she said mysteriously.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, Viktor will be arriving in a couple of weeks and he's asked me to meet him at the Three Broomsticks during the first Hogsmeade weekend," Hermione said, blushing slightly.

The situation was going from bad to worse. There was going to be a full out war if Ron heard this.

"Listen, Hermione, don't tell Ron anything about this. I'll cover up for you on the Hogsmeade weekend, I'll schedule a team practice or something."

"All right, but I don't see why I should have to hide anything. It's not as though I'm doing anything wrong, I'm just meeting a friend. Ron should just grow up."

"You don't understand," Harry said impatiently. "Just trust me on this one, Hermione. His intentions are good."

"I find that rather hard to believe," she said quietly as she folded up the letter and put it away. She looked angry again but then her expression changed as though she'd just remembered something. "I'm glad he's not here anyway, because there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

There was a mischievous look in Hermione's eyes that made Harry quite nervous. What more could she possibly want to talk to him about that she couldn't say in front of Ron?

She pulled open her Transfiguration textbook and started scanning it and cross-referencing the text with her notes as though nothing had happened and he had just imagined the mischievous look in her eyes.

"That was a very nice thing you did for Ginny," she said casually as she turned the page and peered up at him.

All at once, Harry felt as though the chair he was sitting on had vanished into thin air and had been replaced by a stage with hot spotlights."I…I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.

"Of course you do," she said simply, not even bothering to look up from her book. "You bought Ginny that broom. It was a very kind gesture, Harry. I don't know why you would want to deny it, but don't bother because I know very well that it was from you. And even if I didn't, your reaction gave it all away just now."

Harry cursed and put his head in his hands. "How did you know?" he asked. "Did Ginny tell you?"

"Ginny didn't need to tell me. It was obvious. I'm not stupid, Harry, and neither is Ginny. I'd say we both figured it out at about the same time yesterday. It's quite a logical conclusion. First of all, you're one of the few people she knows with enough money to buy the broom and who knows that she wants to be a Chaser. And it's so typical of you to leave an anonymous note. Most people would want to take the credit for such a generous gift, but not you, Harry. I mean, you wouldn't even tell us about the money you gave to Fred and George, so you certainly wouldn't tell us about the broomstick for Ginny, would you?"

Now that she explained it like that, he really did feel the fool. Anyone could guess that he'd given her the broom, it didn't matter that he hadn't left a name. He cursed his stupidity for ever thinking that such a thing could be done without someone finding out.

"Does Ron know?" Harry asked uneasily.

Hermione snorted derisively. "Ron is so dense that he wouldn't see the truth if it slapped him in the face."

Harry knew that this comment was directed much more to her situation than to his. Hermione's anger with Ron was clearly still simmering just beneath the surface.

"No, Harry," Hermione continued, now somewhat calmer, "I think you can rest assured that Ron doesn't know. He never sees what's right in front of him," she said quietly. "Anyway, I don't know why you're so worried, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to find out that you gave her the broom instead of some secret admirer or something."

"Maybe," he mumbled, but Hermione showed no sign that she had heard him as she changed the subject.

"Have you started Professor Ramsey's assignment, yet?" she asked.

In truth, it hadn't even crossed his mind since the end of class the day before when Ramsey had instructed them to create a list of ten defensive maneuvers that they could use against dark wizards in different situations. At the time, Harry had thought it seemed like a simple enough assignment and had consequently forgotten about it completely. But years of Hermione's nagging had taught him that it was best not to confess this.

"I've thought about it, but I haven't written anything down yet."

There, that was marginally truthful anyway.

"I've finished nine of the scenarios," Hermione said thoughtfully, "but I'm having trouble with the tenth. Do you think Professor Ramsey wants us to list defensive spells we've already learned or new ones? I found some really interesting spells in the back of our new textbooks but we haven't learned them yet. Maybe I should just list two…"

"Right, good idea," Harry agreed absently, not really listening anymore. His thoughts had switched over to the new professor and Lupin's letter from that morning.

"Hermione," he asked. "What do you think of Ramsey?"

"Well," she said, looking up from her book, "he seems quite competent so far, doesn't he? Certainly better than Umbridge. And it will be really interesting to have a magiventrus for a teacher."

"Yeah, but…well, we haven't exactly had much luck with Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors, have we? Other than Lupin, of course. I mean, half of them have turned out to be evil. And the Slytherins did applaud the loudest for him yesterday."

"Really?" she said absentmindedly as she continued staring at the book in front of her, "I didn't notice. Even if they did, that doesn't necessarily mean that Ramsey is evil. Didn't Dean say something about some of the Slytherins knowing Ramsey because of his job? He seems very nice so far. Maybe we should just be grateful we have a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Besides, Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him if he didn't trust him."

"He trusted Moody and look what happened then?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't let himself be fooled by the same trick twice. He knows how dangerous it is now. I'm sure he's doing everything he can to keep us safe and Ramsey is part of that. And Ramsey hasn't given us any reason yet not to trust him, right?"

With some foreboding, Harry couldn't help but think that the opposite was true as well. For while Ramsey certainly hadn't behaved in a way to make him untrustworthy, no one had yet provided a reason why they should trust Ramsey.

* * * * *

After finishing their Potions assignment, in addition to Ramsey's assignment, Hermione finally consented to a break and they decided to go down early to dinner.

The creak of the tall oak doors followed by the howl of the storm outside stopped them in mid-stride as they crossed the entrance hall. Rain whipped around a huge figure looming in the doorway. Hagrid stepped in dripping wet, a small pool forming at his feet. He slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

"Hagrid!" Harry called out, rushing over to him with Hermione following closely behind him.

Hagrid shook out his black mane of hair and Harry flinched as huge raindrops splattered him.

"Siccaro!" Hermione said, aiming her wand at Hagrid to use the same drying spell she had demonstrated the day prior.

"Thank yeh, Hermione! Terrible out there today. Haven' seen a storm like this in years. Had ter cancel all o' me classes," said Hagrid as they followed him into the empty Great Hall, whose ceiling was currently a mass of dark gray swirling clouds. Raindrops pelted down in torrents from the sky far above but disappeared twenty feet above them. The warm glow of candles and the burning hearths was interrupted by a flash of white lightning.

Hagrid took off his heavy coat, knelt in front of one of the fireplaces and held out his hands to warm them by the fire. "Don' think I'd go back out there if it wasn' fer Beaky an' Fang," he commented.

"How is Buckbeak?" Hermione asked politely, seating herself next to Hagrid.

"Oh, Beaky? He's…well...he's not quite himself. Hasn' bin eatin' like he used ter, not since…," Hagrid glanced nervously at Harry and cleared his throat. "Anyway…Beaky's all righ'. Seemed a bit depressed this summer, but he's doin' much better now. Ate three ferrets this mornin' in fact," he added quickly in a brighter tone of voice. "He needs ter be with his own kind though, I reckon. I'm hopin' to set 'im loose, but he's bin livin' with humans fer too long.. It'd be better though if he traveled south with the rest of the Hippogriffs 'fore winter."

Of course, Harry realized that what Hagrid had been about to say was that Buckbeak hadn't been acting the same since Sirius died.

"And how've you bin gettin' along, Harry?" Hagrid asked with concern, as though he knew very well where Harry's thoughts had strayed.

"Fine," Harry answered shortly, not looking directly at Hagrid. He changed the subject quickly before Hagrid could question him further. "And what about Grawp? Is he still in the forest?"

A look of delight crossed Hagrid's face, but just at that moment, several students started to file in to the room. Hagrid lowered his voice and said hurriedly, "I'll tell yeh all abou' Grawpy later an' I have somethin' else to show yeh, so bring Ron by later this week."

"We were planning on visiting you after dinner," said Harry.

"No - not tonight. I don' want you three out in that," Hagrid said strongly, pointing at the dark skies above them.

Hermione looked somewhat disappointed and Harry supposed that she was as uneasy as he was about whatever Hagrid wanted to show them. But they quickly agreed to visit Hagrid that weekend before leaving him to find their places at the Gryffindor table.

Ron showed up shortly thereafter and it was quite apparent that he had not yet apologized to Hermione because there was some tension between them. However, the discomfort quickly diminished as they told Ron of their conversation with Hagrid. They spent much of the evening meal discussing what creatures Hagrid might be raising now. But the possibilities were too endless and alarming to contemplate.

The tension between Ron and Hermione returned when they had exhausted that conversation and continued as they spent the evening studying in the Gryffindor common room. Eventually, Harry thought it best to leave them alone in the hopes that they would be forced to sort everything out between each other if he was gone. Both of them looked pleadingly at him to stay but he walked out of the common room without a backwards glance, only feeling slightly guilty. After all, he would have had to leave a few minutes later anyway for his Occlumency lesson.

Following Ramsey's instructions, he walked down several flights to find the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. The corridors were quieter than normal. It seemed that most of the students had decided to stay in their common rooms that night.

Approaching Ramsey's office, he heard two voices within. He was about to knock on the door but was suddenly overcome by the urge to listen. This was a unique opportunity to learn more about the new professor. And he became even more interested when he realized that the other voice belonged to Snape.

"I pity you, Ramsey," Snape said. "I wouldn't wish Occlumency lessons with Potter on my worst enemy."

"Is that the fault of the student or the teacher, Severus?" Ramsey asked, with a note of amusement in his voice.

"Very funny, Ramsey," Snape said, making it very clear that there was nothing amusing about it, "but I give you fair warning that Harry Potter is every bit as arrogant as his father ever was."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Severus," Ramsey said sincerely. "He seems quite level-headed from what I've seen."

Harry smiled. Maybe Professor Ramsey was decent after all. He suddenly felt a bit more charitable towards him at least.

Ramsey continued and Harry could almost hear the smirk on his face as he said, "And after all, no one could ever be as arrogant as James Potter."

The smile vanished.

Inside the office, Snape snorted with amusement. "I'll give you that, Ramsey. No one could surpass James Potter, but don't say that I didn't warn you about his son."

"All right, all right, you've warned me, Severus. Now, you'd better leave before he arrives. And please don't forget that potion I asked you about."

Outside, visible through a nearby window, there was a flash of light as a bolt of lighning forked across the sky. It was followed almost instantaneously by a loud crack and the low rumble of thunder. The sound blocked out any response that Harry might otherwise have heard. And shortly thereafter, he realized that there were no more sounds coming from beyond the door whatsoever.

Standing to the side of the door in case someone stepped out, Harry waited to hear footsteps approaching. When none came and several minutes had passed, he knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again more firmly. Still no answer.

Hesitantly, Harry pushed the door open very slowly, wondering if Snape was still there or if they had realized that he had been standing just outside. As he walked fully into Ramsey's office, he saw no sign of Snape, but what was more surprising was that he saw no sign of Ramsey either.

However, the room was by no means empty. Every bit of space seemed to be filled with all sorts of exotic and interesting-looking objects. It was cluttered and yet organized, rather like an old library whose collections had swelled until the books had to be stacked on the floor because the shelves were overflowing.

Indeed, much was the same here. Two wide, tall bookcases were lined with thick leather-bound volumes, many of which looked ancient, with spines tattered by age rather than wear. The books that didn't fit neatly on the shelves were piled on top of a nearby table, and still more were stacked on Ramsey's desk. Strewn among all of the books was an assortment of objects. There were small statues of some very odd-looking anthropomorphic creatures standing on the shelves in front of the books. And, on top of one of the bookcases, a line of African masks was displayed. Some of them looked almost nightmare-inducing while others were quite humorous. Harry found himself staring at one of the odder masks for a few seconds, until the mask blinked its eyes and stuck out a bright red tongue at him.

Stepping back in surprise, he brushed against a curio cabinet, just as large as the bookcases. On one of the lower shelves, there was a pile of scrolls. Some looked just like the rolls of parchment that Hogwarts students used for writing, while others were made of a rougher material and looked old enough to disintegrate at the slightest touch.

On another shelf, there was a line of bottles, some were ornate and etched with intricate designs in gold while others were dull in color and oddly-shaped, they looked like rejects that a glass-blower had long ago tossed away. Some of the bottles appeared empty and some were filled with powders, while others held bright liquids.

The topmost shelf held an array of items that wouldn't have looked out of place in Knockturn Alley. Huge, long fangs that Harry could only assume had belonged to dragons lay in neat rows beside a skull that looked only half-human and some very odd-looking spiked horns. Scattered among the fangs, horns, and skull were small amulets and charms of silver and gold, some had features set with precious stones. And, in a prominent place right in the center of the shelf, was a crumpled, blackened hand, wrapped in tattered strips of dark linen. Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the Hand of Glory that he'd encountered in Borgin and Burkes, in the summer before his second year at Hogwarts.

His stomach clenched uncomfortably with a feeling of revulsion and disgust. Turning his back on the cabinet and the leering masks, Harry walked toward Ramsey's desk. Sitting in a leather armchair across from the desk, he waited for the professor's return. The chair was comfortable, and Harry could feel the warmth from the burning embers in the fireplace. The unease he had felt began to dissipate.

Ramsey's desk was plain compared to the rest of the office but it held its own mysteries. There were six books neatly stacked to one side with one large book open in the center. If not for the wooden box and the bronze statue sitting in the top corners, it would look like any desk Hermione had just occupied. The statue reminded him of the other objects in the room - it was some sort of deity by his guess - a woman with four arms. The box, on the other hand, looked completely out of place. It was beautiful and exotic, with an intricate pattern of vines and floral shapes carved into the reddish-toned wood.

Despite his better judgement, Harry felt an overwhelming desire to open the box. Although, when he considered the contents in the rest of the room, he knew that there was no telling what might be in it. But the box looked so different from the rest of the objects that filled the room, that it felt safe to him.

His curiosity was piqued now so he looked quickly around the room for any sign of Ramsey returning and reached towards the box. But just before his hand touched the surface, he felt a shock at his fingertips as though there were some invisible barrier surrounding the box. Believing that the shock was just a coincidence, he was about to reach for it again when he heard a noise. His hand drifted to the base of the statue as he turned towards the sound.

Ramsey coughed as he stepped out of the fireplace. He looked up at Harry and smiled. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he said as he brushed the soot from his robes.

"Wha-?" Harry asked in surprise, and then realized that Ramsey was referring to the statue whose base he was still touching. He pulled his hand quickly back to his side. "Er…yeah, I s'pose," he said, although truthfully he didn't know why anyone would find a four-armed woman with her tongue sticking out all that attractive.

"That's Kali," Ramsey explained, as he walked over to the glass cabinet. "She's the Hindu goddess of death." He opened the cabinet and placed a small glass vial full of a phosphorescent blue liquid onto the shelf among the other glass bottles.

"Is it magical?" asked Harry.

"No, she's one of the few objects here that isn't magically related in the slightest actually. You're wondering why I would keep a statue like that on my desk, aren't you?"

Which, of course, was exactly what Harry was thinking.

"Kali serves as a reminder of something that I should never forget," said Ramsey, his tone suddenly quite serious. "And I suppose, to me, she also represents hope."

Harry raised one eyebrow and looked skeptically at Ramsey, wondering how a goddess of death could possibly represent hope.

As though he had read Harry's mind, Ramsey answered the unasked question. "You see, Harry, despite Kali's appearance, she isn't really an evil spirit. Good and evil lie in a delicate balance and the ancients seemed to understand that much better than modern society. Many deities that you might think of as evil were actually revered for the good that they could do. Kali, for example, has the power to bring about death and destruction but she also has the power to save people from death and is even worshipped as a loving goddess by some." Moving to the bookshelf, he picked up a statue of a dog-headed person and set it on his desk beside the statue of Kali as he sat down across from Harry.

Harry sat silently, half-listening. Who was Ramsey to lecture to him about good and evil? He, Harry, had seen more than enough evil in his life already and there had been nothing good about any of it. Would Ramsey dare to argue that Voldemort had some good side to him as well?

"And Anubis," Ramsey continued, gesturing to the dog-headed statue, "was one of the most popular gods of ancient Egypt, despite the fact that he was the god of death and mummification. He was adored because he would guide the deceased in their journey through the underworld and help them achieve eternal life."

Harry perked up at hearing this. It had reminded him of something…something that Dumbledore had said about the veil in the Department of Mysteries being the entrance to the journey to the afterlife. He had called it the forbidden passage. His brow furrowed in concentration at this stream of thoughts, Harry looked up at Ramsey with renewed interest.

Ramsey was studying the statues. Then his eyes rested on the wooden box for second. For the briefest of moments, less than a heartbeat, the professor's face held a look of intense sorrow. The emotion was so transparent that his pain radiated from him and Harry actually felt sorry for him. But as quickly as the emotion had appeared, it was gone without a trace and the corners of Ramsey's mouth rose slightly in the calm smile that now seemed to be his daily mask.

But when Ramsey spoke again, there was an edge to his voice. "As you can see, Harry, I have somewhat of a passion for ancient cultures. So, here I am prattling on about mythology when you're here for Occlumency lessons." He stood up from his chair. "Shall we go then?"

"I'm sorry for the delay," Ramsey apologized as they walked out into the corridor. "I hope you didn't wait too long," he said kindly.

"No, I just arrived," Harry lied. He wasn't about to admit to arriving early and hearing and seeing what he had in Ramsey's office.

"Good. I had some business to discuss with Professor Snape."

"Are you friends with him? I mean, I saw you talking to him at dinner," said Harry. He realized that this line of questioning was a bit invasive for a teacher, but then again Ramsey had been the one to mention Snape and it was a perfect opportunity.

"Professor Snape? Well, no, not really. This is the first I've seen him in years. You might say we were old acquaintances."

Oddly, Harry felt a bit of disappointment. It wasn't that he wanted Ramsey and Snape to be friends, but rather that he had felt that this was one of the few things about Ramsey of which he had felt relatively certain. Now it seemed that Ramsey was once again a complete mystery. At times, Ramsey seemed almost too perfect, both kind and a very competent teacher. And yet, he had such an odd office, full of what seemed to be dark objects. And there was his conversation with Snape. And, at times, there was something in his eyes and his expression that disturbed Harry. By the time they reached the seventh floor corridor, Harry felt just as confused about Ramsey as he had the first time he'd seen him.

"So how do we get into this room?" Ramsey asked, looking curiously at the blank wall in front of them as though he were trying to see through to the other side.

Harry explained and Ramsey followed his instructions. Three turns and the door appeared instantly in the previously blank wall.

"Brilliant!" Ramsey said in awe as they stepped into the room. "I've never seen anything quite like it. It's such a complex charm - it has to conceal the room, stock it, and read the user's mind to do so. It's absolutely brilliant. I wonder…," Ramsey's voice trailed off and he didn't complete whatever he was going to say. But Harry could almost see the gears working in his head as he contemplated the spells that composed the Room of Requirement.

Candles flickered around the room and emitted a warm, calming glow. The room was relatively empty except for a couple of chairs as well as a pile of the cushions that they had used the day before in Defense class. Next to the chairs was a small table with a few books. Ramsey sat in one of the chairs and motioned for Harry to do the same.

"So, Harry, I thought we might start by discussing what you covered with Professor Snape before."

"Well…we just sort of practiced Occlumency."

"Practiced? You mean Professor Snape didn't teach you any techniques first?"

"Techniques?"

"Yes, you know, methods of emptying your thoughts and such."

"No, he'd just tell me to clear my mind."

"Hmm," Ramsey frowned. "Well, I can see why you've had some trouble with it then. But still, after several months of lessons, I would imagine that you would have progressed somewhat. Professor Dumbledore has naturally informed me of the circumstances that brought about the need for Occlumency lessons. I believe you when you say that Professor Snape's lessons may have not been as thorough as they should have been and I know something of the animosity between the two of you, but it is also my understanding that you were somewhat resistant to learn Occlumency, is this true?"

"They didn't even tell me why I needed to learn it!" said Harry defensively, his voice raised. "I didn't know that Voldemort-," Harry stopped in midsentence. He looked at Ramsey, expecting him to flinch at the name. But Ramsey did not flinch. In fact, he showed no response to the name whatsoever, not even a flicker in his eyes.

"Yes?" Ramsey urged quite calmly. "Go on."

Harry sighed. "I didn't know that he sent the dreams on purpose."

"Please understand, Harry, that I don't blame you, nor does anyone else," Ramsey said very calmly. "You were manipulated by the dark lord. But what I need to know is that you will commit wholeheartedly to these lessons now. Without the desire and intent to succeed at Occlumency, you will find it next to impossible to block your mind from those that wish to penetrate it. And if you are unwilling to learn, there is very little I or anyone else can do to help you."

It was true that Harry had made little effort in his lessons the previous year. At the time, he had thought that he had enough to worry about without some unexplained lessons from Snape. Now it seemed a lifetime since he had first started Occlumency lessons. So much had changed since then. Now he understood. Now he knew why Lupin had stressed to him that nothing was more important than his learning Occlumency. But now was too late. Still one thing was certain - the times had changed and so had he.

"I want to learn now. I don't want him to use me again," Harry said, his jaw set with determination.

Ramsey smiled approvingly. "That's very good, Harry," he said, impressed by Harry's resolve. "You'll need to call upon those feelings when you practice. Now I think we should start slowly tonight. Emptying your mind is perhaps the most important step to Occlumency so I would like to begin with some exercises that will help you to do just that."

They spent the next half hour discussing various methods. Some of them were physical, like exercise or pinching the tip of a finger until all of your thoughts were focused on the nerve endings at that point. Others were more psychological: Harry had to close his eyes and imagine himself tossing each of his thoughts in a rubbish bin or focus his mind on a single image (a technique that he soon decided against, seeing as the only image that would readily come to his mind for some unfathomable reason was Ginny silhouetted by the setting sun as she had walked away from him the previous evening).

Still other methods relied on patterns, the regular rhythm of his breathing or his heartbeat or counting silently in a foreign language. If his mind was occupied on these things, it would be empty of other thoughts.

"And now," Ramsey said mysteriously, "I've saved the best for last." He walked over to the table, picked up one of the books in the stack and handed it to Harry.

Harry stared bewildered at the book in his hands. "Advanced Arithmancy?" he asked, confusion written upon his face.

"Works every time," Ramsey said, smiling broadly. "I guarantee that you will sleep soundly after reading two pages of that. I would particularly recommend Chapter 14."

Harry laughed despite himself. But the laugh quickly turned into a yawn as the talk of sleeping had reminded him of how very tired he was. In truth, he had not slept well for some time and was working on an extreme sleep deficit.

Ramsey looked at him with concern. "All joking aside, a dull book is an excellent way to clear your mind before you go to sleep. And from the looks of it, I'd say a few hours of sleep is exactly what you need. Why don't you go on to bed now, Harry. I'm sure you've had a long day. We can have a more detailed lesson next time."

Harry nodded gratefully and walked towards the door, but then he hesitated. There was something he needed to know.

"Professor Ramsey?" he asked as he turned around.

Ramsey did not answer but looked at him expectantly.

"Professor Dumbledore said that you were a great Occlumens. Why?"

Ramsey looked a bit flustered and frowned. "Well, I'm sure that the Headmaster wanted you to have faith in my abilities."

"No," Harry said slowly, "I mean, in my experience, there are reasons why someone learns Occlumency. Why did you learn it?"

Ramsey stared at Harry for a moment and then turned towards the window and stared out at the moonlit grounds, the clouds having finally cleared.

"Ah, I see," he said. "Now that's a somewhat longer story, and one that I would rather not share if you don't mind. I learned from a very young age to block my thoughts and I can assure you that I have more than enough experience for this position." Professor Ramsey looked back at Harry, but now there was a pained expression in his gaze and his eyes held the same haunted look that Harry had noticed in them the first time he had seen him on the night of the Welcoming Feast.

That pained expression lingered in Harry's mind as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower and he couldn't help but wonder what had caused it. It was glaringly clear now that Ramsey did indeed have some kind of secret but what he couldn't yet presume. The man seemed to be a living paradox. He was friendly with Snape and apparently not with James Potter, and considering this, Harry might have expected Ramsey to treat him with the same contempt that Snape always did. But, on the contrary, Ramsey had been nothing but kind to him from the start and more than reasonable in lessons. But was this all covering up for something else?

The new professor was a complete mystery but one that Harry intended to solve. He would not let himself be caught again by foolishly misplacing his trust. No, he would be cautious, just as Lupin had requested. And with Ron and Hermione's help, they would solve this mystery just as they had so many others before it.

He marched into the common room, determined to do something he hadn't been capable of in months. He needed Ron and Hermione's help, but first they needed to know everything that he had been holding in. There were too many secrets that he had kept for far too long and now was the time to reveal them. Before the night was over, he would tell them everything - from the prophecy to the events at the Department of Mysteries to what he had learned of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And when morning came, it would be a time for action, his days of passivity were over.